I am Gavin, 29 years old, Captain of the Royal Guard of Arcadia.

  TAP TAP TAP

  I’m just about to head out for work, having finished my morning routine, when a sharp knock at the front door draws my attention.

  I approach the door with mild annoyance. Whoever it is wasn’t expected, and now they’re at risk of making me late.

  I unbolt and swing the door open and—

  SMACK.

  The moment the door opens, a gloved hand thrusts something toward my face—a metal disc with a yellow crystal embedded in its center. I barely register it before instinct takes over and I swat the object away.

  My strike knocks both the disc and the hand holding it into the doorframe with a dull thud.

  With the obstruction gone, I finally see the owner of the hand: a man in a dark, hooded cloak. It is the kind of obvious getup that shady nobles mistakenly think grants them anonymity, while completely ignoring that it makes them look like the kind of vagabond they pay soldiers like me to throw into the stockades for loitering.

  The stranger barely has time to register the pain in his hand before drawing it back with an “Ouch!” and cradling it, and groaning through his gritted teeth.

  By then, I’ve already drawn the mithril dagger from my belt and leveled it at his throat.

  “What is this?” I snap, irritated by both the rude intrusion and the creeping sense that this stranger is about to throw off my entire day.

  “Arg! Relax, ruddy hell, boy… it’s me—your father.”

  The man pulls back his hood, revealing the very unwelcome face of my estranged father, Lord Cromwell.

  My temper flares. This is the man who cast me out of his family for the crime of outshining my older brother. And now here he is, knocking on my door like it’s the most natural thing in the world—as if he wasn’t the one who once screamed that I should never darken his doorstep again.

  And yet, here he is. Darkening mine.

  “What do you want, Lord Cromwell?” I ask, loading the title with as much venom as I can muster.

  “Put the weapon away and invite me in, son,” he says, eyeing the blade hovering inches from his face.

  “I’m your son now?” I raise an eyebrow. “No.”

  “Gavin, how can you still be angry with me? I only did what was best for the domain.”

  He tries to sidestep the blade, but it moves with him.

  “I heard your domain’s population has been dropping nine percent year over year.”

  “The domain has just been shedding dead weight, son. Unproductive peasants, nothing more,” Cromwell says, trying to sound dismissive while still shifting uncomfortably before the dagger pointed at his jugular.

  “I also heard you took a loan from the Royal coffers. And that you requested a deferral on your tax payments this year.” I tisk sardonically and shake my head slightly. “Doesn’t sound like things are going too well for ya’, My Lord.”

  As much as I hate him, I have still always wished the best for the people of the lands I grew up in, and have maintained a steadfast curiosity about their status ever since I left—was made to leave. It helps that I happen to be friends with the King’s master of coin—a man with perhaps less discretion than he should have. From what he’s told me, the Kingdom’s finances are in dire straits thanks to some highly questionable expenses from Lord Fobos and a handful of domains running extreme deficits.

  “It’s about a threat to the Kingdom,” Cromwell says, trying to sound serious, but merely coming across as whiny. “Invite me in.”

  “Then take it to the King. He’s the one I answer to. Not you.”

  “The King has been compromised, Gavin!” he blurts, more frantic than I’ve ever seen him. He’s clearly under tremendous stress—but it doesn’t spark any sympathy. If anything, it makes me smile, just a little.

  “Compromised... how?” I ask, unimpressed as I finally return my dagger to my belt. My hands are more than capable of dealing with anything he could possibly muster, and they would make far less of a mess than the blade would.

  “He’s under a mind control spell. A powerful fae has ensnared him.”

  “You have proof?” I ask, skepticism thick in my voice.

  “This!” he shouts, holding up the same yellow-crystalled amulet, his expression just a few shades short of manic. “This is the proof!”

  I cross my arms, unimpressed. “Proof of bad taste, maybe.”

  “No,” he says, lowering his voice to a loud whisper—defeating the point, but making his desperation obvious. “This amulet is enchanted. It glows in the presence of a fae or someone under their influence.”

  He pushes the amulet into my hands until I grudgingly accept it.

  I sigh, looking down at the gaudy trinket. It’s been engraved with a complex network of interconnected runes. It’s clearly enchanted, though I’d need time and focus to determine the exact nature of the spell.

  “Take it to the King,” he says. “Hold it within a meter of him and see for yourself. If he’s under a fae’s control, it will glow.”

  He’s trembling now. Watching the man who abandoned me fall apart like this is strangely satisfying. But if he’s this shaken... maybe I should hear him out.

  That said, there's no one around to see if I knock him out. I could probably make him disappear and get away with it. Afterall, it is the Royal Guard who would be tasked with investigating any reported disappearances.

  Yeah… but then I’d have to betray my oath and honor, and this man is certainly not worth that.“What can you tell me about this supposed fae?” I ask.

  “It’s Lady Willow. She’s the fae,” he replies darkly.

  I pause, staring at him, waiting for the punchline. A smirk. Some hint that it’s a joke.

  Nothing.

  I know Lady Willow. I’ve spent countless evenings in her company and Ren’s. I’ve eaten her food more times than I can count. If she were a dangerous fae, she’s had every opportunity to kill me—or worse.

  She can’t be a fae.

  “Come in,” I say, stepping aside.

  Cromwell moves past me eagerly. I follow him into the parlor and shut the door behind us, bolting the lock.

  “I’m glad you’ve come to your—”

  Before he can finish, I grab him by the collar and slam him against the wall. The impact shakes the entire room, rattling the picture frame and knocking the wind from his lungs.

  He gasps, dazed.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  He may have given me his blood, but he’s a hollow reflection of the man I’ve become. Years of living soft as a pampered noble have dulled both his body and his mind.

  Or maybe… I’m the reflection of what he could have been, if he’d ever cared about something greater than power, wealth, and his own pride.

  “W-What are you doing?” he stammers, struggling to pry my hand from his neck. He can’t.

  “If this is some ruse, or some false accusation meant to harass or harm the young prince, then I will treat it like I treat any other threat to the royal family.”

  My voice is low, but full of weight. The fury behind it has been building for years; the betrayal I lived through… and the injustice the young prince Ren still endures from his own father.

  “If you’re lying, you being on the council won't protect you,” I warn.

  “I have more proof. Let me go, and I’ll show you.”

  I let him go, and he takes a couple of steadying breaths while eyeing me reproachfully. He straightens his robes, trying to recover from the indignity of being manhandled so easily.

  “You should be thanking me—” he mutters, only to be cut off again.

  “The proof.” I’m not interested in what he thinks I should do or feel.

  “Fine.” He pulls a palm-sized crystal ball from his pocket, a smaller version of the kind used in the military to share or replay visual enchantments. I've seen these used to transmit what a mage sees or store visions for later. This one looks like a compact variant of the same device.

  I watch as Cromwell pours a small amount of mana into the crystal. It begins to glow faintly.

  “This happened eight arcs ago, right here in the capital.”

  Light shines out from the orb and forms a flat image above it. A shadowed alley comes into focus, where three men are gathered.

  Almost immediately after the recording begins, something flashes into the frame.

  A tall, black creature, monstrous but unmistakably feminine, dives toward the men. She appears nearly ten feet tall, her form dissolving into smoke at the edges as if her body can’t decide whether it wants to exist at all. She moves like a shadow, silent and weightless, until she strikes.

  And when she does, she is terrifyingly strong.

  I watch as she tears the men apart like paper, ripping them limb from limb. Her face wears a grotesque, joyful smile as she drinks their blood. The killing is over in moments, but she lingers, savoring the blood she draws from their bodies.

  The final image shows Ren standing frozen in place, staring in horror, completely helpless.

  A cold chill runs down my spine.

  That monster tore through four men like nothing, and Ren was right there. If this happened eight arcs ago, then clearly it didn’t kill him. But a fae can do a lot worse than just kill a person.

  “That was Willow,” Cromwell says, his voice filled with dark satisfaction. “She killed those men. And the reason the prince is still with her is because she’s enchanted him.”

  The light from the crystal fades, but I continue staring at the empty space where the image had hovered, trying to make sense of what I just saw.

  It didn’t show Lady Willow directly, but Ren was there. He came face to face with a murderous fae and never said a word. That alone is suspicious.

  She’s never far from him. Never. The fact that she isn’t present in the vision, but the creature is, raises a possibility I can’t ignore.

  What if they are the same?

  “You’re saying that both the prince and the king are under her control?” I ask, pushing down the unease building in my chest and slipping into the cold, analytical mindset that’s served me well in war.

  “That’s what I suspect,” Cromwell replies. “That’s why I had Lord Kael make this amulet, to reveal who has been enchanted.”

  He pockets the crystal ball and holds the amulet out toward me again. I take it from his hand and stare down at it in my palm.

  I don’t want to believe that my friend, Lady Willow, could be a monster. I don’t want to believe she’s been deceiving me, and Ren, all this time.

  I would much rather believe that the despicable man standing before me is lying than accept that the kind, graceful woman I’ve known for so long is something else entirely. But I know what the fae are capable of. They are insidious, skilled in illusion and mimicry, and masters of blending in—fooling, charming, and ensnaring mortals with ease.

  My duty is to protect the royal family. And if there’s even the slightest chance that the King, or his son, is under a fae’s influence... I have to investigate.

  “I’m not saying I believe you,” I say, voice tight with reluctant resolve. “But I will look into this.”

  Then I step forward and swing the door wide open.

  “Now get out of my house.”

  “We can investigate her together—”

  “No. I’ll handle it myself. Get out.” I gesture sharply to the door. “You can leave on your own two feet, or I can throw you out. Your choice.”

  He clearly senses I’m not bluffing. Without another word, he hurries past me and out the door, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder.

  I follow him out, close the door behind us, and lock it. I’m already dressed for work, and thanks to Cromwell’s interruption, I have little time left before my audience with the King.

  I head down the walkway to the street and set off at a brisk pace.

  I’m dressed in my blue and white military uniform, the one I usually wear beneath my mithril plate armor. But as I’m due to meet the King, it’s customary to arrive unarmed and unarmored. Still, I always feel a bit exposed without the familiar weight of my armor. It’s one reason I never look forward to our weekly meetings.

  I understand their purpose, of course. As the head of the Royal Guard, it’s important that I remain in close communication with His Majesty—to ensure his expectations are being met.

  Though, more often than not, these meetings are little more than routine check-ins. The King asks about the progress of his eldest son’s training and whether anything unusual has been observed around the castle.

  As I approach the castle’s front gate, the two guards stationed beyond the raised portcullis snap to attention and salute.

  “Good morning, Captain!”

  “At ease, gentlemen. Good morning,” I reply, returning the salute without breaking stride.

  The guards relax again, leaning against the stone walls and resuming the conversation I had inadvertently interrupted. I catch a few words—something about a barmaid in town—and then a familiar debate about the virtues of birthing hips versus ample bosoms. The names may change, but that particular topic seems to be a staple among bored guards with too much time on their hands.

  I make my way into the keep, passing more guards on patrol and many servants going about their duties—sweeping, tending the gardens, and caring for the few nobles housed within the castle. I feel a familiar pang of sadness and guilt each time I pass one of them, heads bowed, avoiding eye contact. Their necks and spirits are weighed down by the heavy iron collars locked around their throats.

  If being stripped of freedom, agency, and mana weren’t enough, they’re also forced to wear coarse, colorless tunics that erase any trace of individuality. These slaves are everywhere, their presence a quiet reminder of a cruelty woven deep into the kingdom's foundations.

  It’s not lost on me that the woman I love could have ended up like this, had Griswald not intervened. Even with his protection, she will never be truly seen as a person in this society. Never someone I could stand beside publicly as my wife.

  This kingdom’s embrace of slavery disgusts me, but I have no power to change it. I don’t even have the influence Griswald commands. My father made sure of that when he stripped me of my name and cast me out.

  I push the bitter thoughts aside as I enter the throne room just as the King is taking his seat.

  I walk halfway up the center aisle. A wide red carpet runs down the length of the vast chamber, leading to the raised platform at the far end where the ornate golden throne sits. Hung high on the walls along both sides of the hall are twelve massive banners bearing the colors and crests of the twelve noble houses that aid the King is leading the Kingdom.

  “Approach,” Edric calls, sounding as though he’s already tired of the formalities.

  At his command, I stride forward the rest of the way, stopping exactly one meter from the throne. I drop to one knee and bow my head to His Majesty.

  “Gavin…” The King’s voice is different, colder than I’ve ever heard it. Not bored. Not irritated. Wary. Aggravated. It's not a tone I’m accustomed to hearing from the man who led me through years of war, who personally chose me to lead his royal guard.

  I want to look up, to understand the source of this sudden chill in his voice, but something else draws my attention first. From my kneeling position, I heard a faint chink and I see yellow light glowing faintly through my breast pocket.

  The amulet.

  “Captain Gavin, why is your pocket glowing?” Edric asks in a chilling unnatural tone.

  I look up to see Edric Drakemore staring at me with a cold, accusatory expression. His face, his posture—none of it resembles the man I’ve known. From the sharpness in his tone and the unnatural stillness in his demeanor, it feels as though he already knows exactly what’s in my pocket.

  And in that moment, I get the distinct impression that I’m not speaking to my King.

  If he’s truly under the control of a fae, it would make sense that the presence of an object meant to reveal such influence might provoke a reaction. It’s possible that I’m speaking to an extension of that very same fae’s will.

  But if the fae in question is Willow—and I know she's supposed to be with Ren in Stonebrook—then her power must be extraordinary. Maintaining control over someone across such a distance would imply we’re dealing with a fae of unfathomable strength.

  Or perhaps it isn’t Willow at all. Perhaps the one controlling the King is another fae, one who never left the capital.

  “It’s a warning, my lord,” I answer carefully, keeping my tone even. “It indicates that there may be a threat to the Kingdom nearby.”

  “Well,” Edric says, voice still slow and cold, “then it seems you should be dealing with that threat rather than wasting time here.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I reply, rising to my feet. “Perhaps we can reschedule our meeting after I’ve dealt with this issue.”

  With a final quick bow, I turn on my heel and stride purposefully toward the exit. As I walk, I pull the amulet from my pocket and glance down at it. The glow has faded—but now there’s a thin crack running down the center of the crystal.

  Did the weight of the enchantment strain it to the point of breaking? Cromwell never mentioned anything about that. Maybe it wasn’t designed to handle a fae this powerful.

  Hopefully, it still works.

  Now that I’ve seen the King is clearly compromised, I know what must be done. There are only two ways to break a fae’s enchantment: either the fae ends it willingly, or the fae who cast it must be killed.

  Right now, I have only one lead—Lady Willow.

  I’ll need to confront her, and either clear her name… or, if she truly is the monster Cromwell claims, I’ll have to kill her.

  Assuming I’m even capable of doing so.

  Dear Reader,

  Best regards,

  Lady Willow of the Fae